


Sinner Just For You

by LivingSilver



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Step-Sibling Incest, Step-siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 23:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20984345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/LivingSilver
Summary: Billy's lying on your bed flipping casually through your Teen Vogue when you get in from your date with Bobby Williams."Billy, what have I told you about being in here," you hiss.Your stepbrother has always seemed to have a problem with respecting boundaries. At least he's not wearing his shoes on your bed, and at least he's wearing a shirt."Just wanted to see how the date went," he says innocently enough, looking up from  the magazine and putting it off on your nightstand. You'd really gotten dolled up tonight; hair curled and teased. Black skirt that's just on the side of decent. Sometimes he can't believe what a knock out you are."It was okay," you shrug."Okay?" Billy asks, "I thought you liked him."





	Sinner Just For You

**Author's Note:**

> This ride goes straight to Hell.
> 
> Catch me on tumblr at either fairiequeens or thirstbxtch.
> 
> Please let me know of any errors. Was kind of in a rush to post.

Billy's lying on your bed flipping casually through your Teen Vogue when you get in from your date with Bobby Williams.

"Billy, what have I told you about being in here," you hiss.

Your stepbrother has always seemed to have a problem with respecting boundaries. At least he's not wearing his shoes on your bed, and at least he's wearing a shirt.

"Just wanted to see how the date went," he says innocently enough, looking up from the magazine and putting it off on your nightstand. You'd really gotten dolled up tonight; hair curled and teased. Black skirt that's just on the side of decent. Sometimes he can't believe what a knock out you are.

"It was okay," you shrug.

"Okay?" Billy asks, "I thought you liked him."

He scoots over, making room for you to sit on the edge of the bed. Sometimes he's nice like this, actually makes an effort to give a fuck, almost likeable when he's not being a complete ass, which hasn't been often since moving to Hawkins.

"I do, like him," you concede, "he's nice."

Billy had figured out a long time ago what girls meant by "nice" and "fine".

"So what's the problem? Did he do something? Do I need to fuck him up?" He questions protectively, raising a brow.

"No, he's nice," you say again somewhat lamely.

You can feel the full weight of Billy's gaze scrutinizing you. Notices the still fading marks on your throat peeking through the curtain of your hair.

"So he can't get you off or something is that it?" He smirks far too smugly. For all his bragging, apparently it's all talk for Bobby. Although he has been strangely quiet lately since he started going out with you; probably knows Billy will kick his ass if he tries any of that locker room talk about his step sister.

"Oh my god, get out, you are so gross," you retort equal parts disbelief and anger, swatting at the solid muscle of his arm.

Billy laughs quietly; unphased.

"I would leave if it wasn't true," he says still wearing his smirk.

You sigh and roll your gaze up to the ceiling.

"Fine," you huff, because yes you're _frustrated_, could be a word for it in more ways than one, and you hate having girl talk with the girls they can't keep a secret if their lives depended on it, and you really don't want the disappointing details of your sex life circulating around the school, "but," you add holding up a finger at Billy's victorious expression, "to be fair, it's not like anything new for anyone."

His expression quickly shifts to one of confusion.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

You give him a look, watching the pieces come together.

"What? You mean like? No one's ever been able to get you off?" He asks, incredulous and teasing.

"Ugh, I shouldn't have said anything, will you just? Leave?" You say pleadingly, desperation clear in your eyes.

Billy senses your discomfort and knows he has to tread carefully.

"Look, hey," he starts, sitting up, suddenly serious, placing a hand on your arm, "I'm supposed to watch out for you okay? We can talk about shit."

"Yeah," you agree. Almost likeable when he's not being an asshole.

"Even if you are complete bitch sometimes," he adds.

"Even if you are a complete ass sometimes," you throw back.

"So what were you guys doing exactly?" He asks after a moment of silence.

"You know, just like fucking around," you deflect.

He rolls his eyes.

"That could mean anything," he smarts.

You hesitate, biting your lip.

"Like just making out and heavy petting and stuff," you answer as casually as you can manage, not wanting Billy to have the satisfaction of seeing you squirm.

He doesn't say anything, just nods slowly.

"So do you fake it or?"

"Umm, yeah?"

Billy tsks disapprovingly.

"Boy's never going to learn if you don't teach him."

"Ugh, but they always get so, whatever, if I tell them."

They either get whiny or pissy about it, and you haven't decided which is worse, but you decided it was just easier to just not say anything.

Billy laughs all white, even teeth. You get the feeling that Billy never needed a teacher. You've heard the girls in his room.

"Well I could always help you out," he offers casually.

Too casually. It takes you a few moments to actually process what he's implying.

"Oh--" you cut him a look because surely he's fucking with you? But his knowing expression is unchanged.

"But Billy, we're--," you trail off uncertainly, because you shouldn't really have to say it.

"Not really," he says evenly, before you can state the obvious, "not technically," he adds, eyes gleaming dangerously.

"But it would still be kind of fucked up," you say, correcting him uneasily.

He leans in, predatory now.

"Almost as fucked up as you getting off while thinking about me," he replies lowly, sucking the oxygen out of the room with him.

And you can't bring yourself to look at him now, deciding it doesn't really matter how he knows--you suppose you have been careless once or twice, letting his name fall quietly from your lips in the dead of night. Not quietly enough apparently. All that matters is what you do now. Because _what if_ exists in a realm separate from the reality of having to sit at the same table for every Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas dinner for the foreseeable future. The reality of no return. The shame of the forever secret.

He's leaning back against the pillows again, watching you.

"You should leave."

Your tone is decidedly cold, and Billy knows you're serious this time.

"Yeah--yeah, okay," he runs his tongue along his lower lip and raises a brow.

Leaves without saying anything else. He'd already accepted a long time ago now how fucked up he is. How somewhere at the back of his mind he's thought about you while he's fucking other girls. How he likes to bring them home when Neil and your mom aren't around, just so you can hear. And he guesses the worst part is he can't really be bothered to care anymore about how fucked up it is, not when he knows you're not any better, when he knows deep down that you're just as dirty, rotten, fucked up as him even if you don't want to admit it.

You both try to act normal Monday morning during the ride to school but there's something there that wasn't before, and the silences stretch too long until it's just the sound of Billy's cassette collection filling the space between you.

It bleeds over into the rest of the week. Sometimes he huffs and tightens his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Look let's just forget it happened?" You finally say, irritated, Wednesday morning because this is getting ridiculous really.

Billy cuts you a look,_ like that's going to happen, _but he agrees nonetheless.

"Sure, yeah," he shrugs.

Friday night. You're going out with Bobby again, but it's all wrong. The quiet thrum of his BMW in place of the Camaro's rumble. The weight of his letterman jacket stifling around your shoulders. The smell of mint and prep sweaters. His touch somehow confident in its clumsiness. Too off the mark to pretend its Billy. And that’s the kicker isn't it? That Billy would even be part of the equation. But still _what if, what if, what if _and the memory of Billy's blue eyes full of promise in the low light of your room.

And finally after another night of faking it in the backseat of Bobby's BMW, the what if, a week of his words turning over in your mind, offering you what you've always wanted--is enough to have you knocking hesitantly at his door.

He answers with a mildly questioning stare and sweatpants rolled down low on the definition of his hips.

You answer the question of his stare with a kiss, pressing up on your toes, steadying yourself against his chest, lips brushing his just so. Pulling away. His blue eyes are suddenly cloudy and he's pulling you into his room, door clicking quickly behind you.

He kisses you softly, soft lingering kisses, each one longer than the last. Your hands running up the smooth expanse of his back in a heady combination of relief and adrenaline and want. He nudges you back until your knees are hitting the bed, and you're parting your mouth from his, looking at him with too wide eyes as you re-weigh the scales of your actions, so he places a hand beneath your chin.

"'M gonna take care of you, okay?" He hums, pushing your doubts to the back of your mind.

You give a small nod and sink down onto the bed, letting him press you back against the pillows, tongue swiping sweetly into your mouth, better than either of you could have imagined, and you both take your time, licking into each other slow and dirty until you're flushed and breathing shallow, fingers pressing your need into his skin.

"What were you doing tonight?" He asks hot against your ear; wants to finish whatever that useless fuck started.

"The same, the same as last week," you answer, already breathy and fucked out.

Billy rolls onto his side, propping himself on an elbow beside you; other hand skimming up the inside of your thigh up your skirt, pausing briefly before stroking lightly over your soaked panties, could probably get you off like this judging from the way your hips already rock forward to meet his touch.

"He ever touch you like this?" He says, continuing to tease you with more pressure now.

"No," you reply, voice cracking, "Billy please."

"Please what?" He lilts.

"Touch me," you plead quietly.

He doesn't say anything, just complies, pushing your panties to the side, stroking you experimentally, studying every reaction, the bite of your lip, the hitch of your breath as his fingers slip through your folds, really working you up.

And then he's finally pushing two thick fingers into you, your face turning into his shoulder to smother a moan.

"Fuck, you're tight," he curses. Tightest pussy he's ever going to get has been sleeping in the room next to him for half his life. What a waste.

Pumps them lazily, working you open until he thinks maybe, presses a third finger against the other two, feeling you stretch, and you're suddenly regretting this if only because you're not sure if you're going to be able to keep quiet. When he adds his thumb, pressing it against your clit, your teeth sink into the skin of his shoulder, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other in his hair.

"Wanna see you," he murmurs against your neck, shrugging you out of his shoulder and you roll your head back onto the pillow, biting your lip to keep quiet, Billy watching you through heavily lidded eyes, fingers curling in unison while he thumbs your clit, and you can feel your vision starting to white out.

He groans lowly feeling you begin to flutter around his fingers, cock twitching in his sweats, and then you're raising a fist to your lips, biting a knuckle to keep quiet as your release hits you hard like a fucking blow to the chest, heart stopping, head tilting back as you shudder and writhe, Billy fucking you mercilessly, wants to tell you what a little slut you are, coming all over his hand, soaking his sheets, but he's not sure if it'll piss you off or not so he'll save it for another time, and you're still coming, still twitching and clenching around his fingers, and he just lets you ride it out, pumping his fingers more languidly now until you're oversensitive.

"Billy, Billy, please," you whisper desperately, bringing a hand down to his forearm

He grins, and reluctantly withdraws his fingers but he can't resist petting you with the flat of his hand because you're so wet, _jesus_, and you make a high pitched little noise, hips rocking involuntarily against his touch.

And then he finally pulls his hand away and you sigh, relaxing into the bed content and blissed out; looking over at Billy as he sucks two fingers into his mouth, tasting you sweet and sultry, eyes slipping shut, fingers catching on his bottom lip when he releases them.

"Told you I'd take care of you," he remarks lazy and smug.

You roll your eyes, before dropping your gaze to the bulge in his sweatpants. You push him gently onto his back, capturing his mouth and moving to straddle one of his thighs, palming him through the soft cotton before pulling them down just enough to get his dick out. You take a moment; teeth sinking into your lower lip. It’s a _nice_ dick. And Billy just lays there, hands clasped behind his head, watching you stare at how nice his dick is.

You have an idea, and you throw Billy a devious look, slipping your hand into your panties, getting it wet with your release, before bringing it to wrap carefully around Billy's length.

He sighs, eyes closing.

You stroke him slowly, testing the weight of him in your hand, thumbing over the curve of his tip, noting the way his abs contract and his hips shift, and you set an easy rhythm, pausing occasionally pausing to lick your hand, which Billy watches through half lidded eyes.

His cock twitches when your hand returns and you jack him faster now, eager to see him come apart, leaning down to trace kisses along his throat, nipping at his ear lobe in time with the uptwist of your hand, and then he's biting off a groan, spilling into your hand, and you pull away to watch his beautiful mouth fall open while he paints your hand sticky and white. A rush of arousal running through you all over again.

And payback's a bitch isn't it? So you continue stroking him until his hips are stuttering and he's cutting you a dirty look.

You slow to a stop, flashing him a teasing grin and reaching for the tissues on his nightstand to wipe away the mess, pulling his sweats back up.

He sits up pressing a whisper to the shell of your ear.

"Sweet dreams."

But there's nothing sweet about the way he's looking you over. It has you aching.

You ache guilty and wanting into sleep on the other side of the wall that separates you, and you don't dream at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably will write more of this, because again. This ride goes straight to Hell.
> 
> I hope the step-sibling dynamic is okay? I mean you know aside from the incest; I'm an only child. Not really sure what those everday sibling interactions are like exactly,


End file.
